Gypsies
by ashetbeck
Summary: Dead Man's Chest rewritten entirely. The only same elements are the Kraken and Tia Dalma, we suppose. Enjoy!


"Jack Sparrow? You'll be smart to stay away from 'im, lad."

"Jack Sparrow, eh!? Who _doesn't_ know of him? He's a cheat and a liar! Oh, would you mind giving him a message…?"

"Well o' _course_ I've hearda 'im. Best beware; 'e's a pirate!"

"Nay, haven't seen him in ten a year. Perhaps try Tortuga- I hear 'at's where he be."

"I see you lookeen fa pirates? Dee island of Nascachuan. Maybee not Jack Sparrow. But der ees a ship. A ship wif black sails."

James Norrington was, in short, _exhausted_. As far as he was concerned, finding the "great" Captain Jack Sparrow was bloody impossible. He'd covered every inch of every isle in the Caribbean- every pig pen (ugh), every smithy (peasants!), every tavern and, admittedly, every brothel.

"Aye! Avast, me hearties!" Norrington chuckled at his own stupidity, taking another hearty swig from the flask ever attached to his hip. "Oh bloody buggering hell, I am drunk again." He stumbled along the dusty streets of Antigua to the nearest tavern.

"Ay! Senor," sounded a deep voice from behind him. Norrington turned around and his already skewed hat fell to the ground.

"Hoe-lah!" Norrington exclaimed, oblivious to the man's overwhelming bulk.

"¿Habla español?" The man surveyed James with deep disgust, his chocolate brow furrowed.

"No say! Hah-blar eenglaysh. Soy uno pirate-o!" The man burst out laughing at that, taking Norrington's arm in his beefy hand and leading him into the tavern.

"Drreenk, mi amigo. Mañana será difícil." Norrington shrugged, and slumped at a table, mumbling his order to the tavern-maid.

"Ninety-nine bottles of rum on the ship, ninety-nine bottles of rum," he sang softly to himself, resting his hot forehead on the cool, slightly sticky wood of the table. The tavern-maid returned with a very large pewter mug in her hand and slammed it down in front of James.

"Señor! ¡Despiertese! Aquí esta su bebida." She held her hand out for money, frowning as he dropped just enough to pay for the drink in her hand. "¿Que? ¿No dinero? ¡Cerdo!"

James lifted the glass to his lips, taking a deep gulp. "Mee ah-moe rum!" The occupants of the tavern, Spanish and English alike, shook their heads in mild disgust at him.

"¿Señor, necesito saber, como te llamas?" The large Spaniard had returned, taking a seat across from James. He surveyed him with great interest, taking in the scraggly beard and tattered blue uniform. This might be just the man he was looking for.

James shook his head. "I told you, idiot, no hah-blar espannyole!" The man grimaced.

"En ingles, entonces," sighed the man. "My name Leonicio. I come from Espagne. You."  
"Me? Name's Norrington. James, rather. By which I mean, James Norrington. Absolutely smashing to meet you, Leonicio," he spat, rolling his eyes. Seeing the Spaniard hadn't taken the hint, he rolled his eyes hard and slumped over. "And by 'smashing to meet you', I mean NOT SMASHING, so if you were ever planning on leaving, I suggest you do it now."

"I not want trrubbles, Norreengton Jaymessrahthair. You maybe listen me."

"You maybe go, or I'll cut you into ribbons!" He leapt from his seat, landing on shaky feet. Subsequently, Norrington fell back into his seat with a thud.

"Si, señor, you cut me in ribbons!" laughed Leonicio. "Eef you maybe cahn stahnd!" He seemed to find this hilarious, clutching his stomach. Norrington attempted a glare, but only achieved looking more inebriated than before.

"Think I'm funny, do you?! You won't be laughing when I'm done with you!" It was an empty threat, but Leonicio quieted.

"I tol' you. I no want trubbles." His voice was deathly soft, a scowl returning again to his brow. "You maybe leesen now, Norrington Jaymsrathair. I no like trubbles."

Norrington quirked an eyebrow and scrubbed a hand over his scruffy beard. "Alright, Leo. I'm all ears." His tone was the very essence of derision. Leonicio's face darkened considerably.

The last thing Norrington remembered was an immense pain in his head, and the cruel laughter of the Spaniard.

"We scourage and plunder and –"

"Jack, if you don't stop that _insufferable­ _racket…"

"Really, William, that's no way to treat a saviour! To think, I, all by me onesie, risked life and limb to save your sorry arse! I should have (and would have, if I been right in the head) left you on that Godforsaken island where surely you'd have perished, because, honestly, you're a right awful pirate." Jack nodded his head for emphasis, skimming a bejeweled hand along the edge of the ship wheel.

"That was quite the run-on sentence," remarked Will, shaking his head. "Look, no one _asked_ you to save me. I owe you nothing."

"That's what you think, laddie." Jack gave a smirk and stroked his uneven beard. His severe eyes began wondering and then swam off into the distance, as if fallen into some sort of lost dream. He desperately sorted the uncertain facts of his imagination.

Snatching his mangy hat from the stern of the Pearl, Jack sighed dismally. He stared at his compass, contemplating whether he should change course direction or trust himself and continue traveling west, away from Tortuga. As low-lying clouds fogged his focus, his mind swayed and he dozed off, his jaw resting gently against the last jug of rum.

An abrupt jolting of the sea craft caused Jack to awake with a shock. He tumbled onto the floor, gripping his compass firmly. Waiting a few moments for the daze to leave his head, he grasped the table for support as he swiftly made his way to the deck. Staring at the horizon, he stumbled back. The wind had increased, sending bits of water into his face and hair. Wiping his salt-sodden eyes viciously, they cleared and he saw an unnatural wave moving closer with every moment.

"All hands on deck, you squabblers! Make ready the guns, Will, and tell the crew to heave ropes over the starboard side!" He ran back unsteadily to the wheel, fiercely budging it with all his strength.

"Jack, this is _not_ the opportune moment for your slapdash sense of humor!" roared William. Jack had clearly forgotten that they had no crew to man the ship in a crisis situation.

"I want my jar of dirt!" screamed Jack, tripping over a stray rope that Will had forgotten to tie up. On his tiptoes, he reached for a musty glass jar sitting on the top shelf of the cabin.

SMASH! The jar tumbled off the shelf and to the sodden wood floor, cracking neatly in two. Sand scattered every where, stopping just short of Jack's weathered boots. "Oh, bugger," he groaned, face the perfect image of shock.

With a loud crack of thunder outside, he was brought back to his senses. Jack fell heavily to his knees with a thud, hastily scraping sand into his fingers. "Bugger, bugger, bugger!"

"Jack!" called Will, fingers slipping on the ropes. "Jack! What's…Oh. Well, that's just _lovely._ I absolutely love sea monsters." His eyes surveyed the tumultuous sea, landing on a large, misshapen beast.

"Shhh! I believe he's awake!"

"Ees he what you look for?"

"Oh, yes, he's absolutely perfect!"

Norrington desperately tried to tune out the voices around him. His head ached with the fury of a thousand hammers. "Shut it," he grumbled, peeking an eye open. He immediately snapped it shut, but not before glimpsing a vaguely feminine figure and a maybe-familiar male.

The woman (for she sounded like one, he decided) pressed a cool hand to his forehead, laughing. "Cheeky, isn't he?"

"I bang his head again?"

"No, love, that won't be necessary. Here, go into the food caravan. I'm sure Elena has cooked up something for you. You surely deserve it." The man - Leo, maybe? Yes, that was it, presumably left the room.

Norrington could feel the woman's soft warmth as she sat down next to him, continuing to stroke his face. "Yes, you'll do wonderfully," she whispered musically, running her fingers over his beard.

"Does that feel alright?" She pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, a smile evident in her voice. Norrington mumbled something groggily, but let out a soft sigh of relief.  
"Who are you?" He managed to whisper dryly.

"Questions, questions," she responded, tone turning a bit hard. "All in good time, James Norrington."

Astounding waves crashed onto the deck as Will tried, with seeming uselessness, to fire his cannon at the Kracken's presumed faulty point.

"Jack!" He howled over the roar of the enormous beast. He was holding a rope connected to the main sail of the ship, having snapped when one of the Kracken's great dirty tentacles had flopped onto it. At the same time he managed to load, position, and fire his one cannon yet another time.

"Jack!!! A little help would be greatly appreciated! It's not like I'm about to die or anything!!"

For a moment everything seemed quiet.

"Bloody pirates," he mumbled loudly. Suddenly he heard one last deafening roar from the brute as it floated away, leaving the stench of its blood dissolving in the water. After wiping his bruised hand on his trousers, Will tied the end of the broken rope to the mast.

Finally appearing on board, Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Beastie'd been lost. "We did good, Sir Turner," he grinned, leaning against the deck. He motioned a toast with his bottle of rum and nodded his head ridiculously towards Will.  
"We?! There was no _we!_ You were off in the cabin the entire ti--"

"Details!" Jack patted Will's damp head, and continued on his way. "Really, lad, lighten up. An eye for an eye, as I see it. I give you room and board on my ship, you help me with all my knobbly-wobbly, and everything's savvy from there, eh?"

"What if I said room and board is undesired?"

"Yet again, details." Jack hummed to himself, rotating his favorite ring around his thinning finger. Will growled, placing his head in his hands.

"Jack Sparrow, you will be the death of me." Jack merely grinned, saluting Will jauntily.  
"I'm off to the cellars for some celebratory means. Swab the decks, or something." Will jumped to his feet with mock respect, giving Jack a rude finger sign.

"'Atta boy," teased Jack, clomping down the stairs to the cellar. "Drink up me hearties, yo-ho," he sang absently, gripping the slimy rail for balance. "No, no, no, no…yes."

He reached for a precariously balanced box on the topmost shelf, cursing as the ship shifted. "Can't have any more mysterious magic things breaking today," he mumbled under his breath, holding the box closely to his chest.

It was of beautiful make. Intricate designs were carved into its shiny mahogany surface, lined with slightly tarnished silver. "Knew she wouldn't disappoint," he said softly, tracing a finger over the lock. "But, of course, no key. Tia Dalma, you are certainly crafty."

He turned the box over, running his fingers slowly over the bottom. "That's what I thought…" He tapped the cryptic message twice, nodding triumphantly as a simple wooden key fell into his hand.

"Well, would you mind telling me exactly what's going on? And where is that bloody Spaniard, I want to shoot _something!_" James heaved himself onto his elbows and looked straight into the woman's distinct face.

"Will you just calm yourself a moment?" she said in an almost frustrated way. "Mangy bloke…"

"I'd like to at least know what is particularly involving me. _Nothing_ ever involves me." Norrington snatched a bottle of rum off the table, swallowing it entirely in less than a minute. He pretended to be sad and slumped around like a child, admiring useless artifacts about the room.

"Before I explain why you are here, how about I give you a nice hot bath to freshen up?"

"Look, you'd better make it quick." He snapped, tripping over a cracked ottoman as he advanced. "I don't fancy wasting my time on women who want to wash me. And besides, I'm really caught up. You see, I'm looking for someone. Perhaps you've heard of Jack Spa-"

"_**Captain**_ Jack Sparrow, you mean?" she interrupted.

"If it comforts you to address that man as a _captain_, then yes. Captain…Jack Sparrow. I see you know him. Where in bloody hell is he then?"

"All I can say is… last time I saw him, he told me he had some sort of debt to settle with Davy Jones. Something about a key, a chest, and a sea monster. Then he looked at his hand with a sort of scream and ran off without even saying goodbye. You know me and Jack used to be really good friends. One time he even—"

"Wait! You said he looked at his hand and screamed?" Norrington seemed much more interested in talking to her now. "I thought only one man could have the black spot at a time! I mean….er.."

"No, _what_ do you mean??" she looked at him with a sharp eye, listening suspiciously.

"I mean… I…er…I… know someone! Yeah, I know someone who has the black spot as well." He nervously put his hands in his lap. "Odd, you know…"

"Incredibly." She leaned in her chair and pulled her hair back, staring at the table in front of her.

Norrington's focus was drawn from the present issue as he noticed how the woman had an abnormally attractive collarbone. Just as she looked up, he snatched his glance to a vase of quite dead chrysanthemums and sighed. "What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't…" she laughed, but noticed he was very intent on knowing her name. "Ahem…It's Milano. Lady Luza-Maria Milano rather. My father was Sir Dantez Milano, perhaps you know who he is."

"Dantez Milano?"

"No, I'm Luza. My _father's_ name is Dantez –"

"Well yes, of course. But…Sir Dantez, he's your father…er…oh _bloody_ hell, I must go." He forced the chair out from behind him and began to head for the door.

"But you can't, there's still something I need you to do for me and Leonicio. Something very important!" She ran over to him and took his arm firmly. There was something in her eyes that seemed sinister. Their faces were centimeters apart, and he could smell the sweet scent of mint and alcohol coming off her breath.

"Be assured, there's something in it for you."

"W—what?" his voice cracked and he became very sweaty. "I mean -- gulp- what is it?" his heart was beating unusually fast so that he could feel it thumping against her unreasonably close body. Her deep green eyes were swimming with wonder and he noticed that her expression had changed from evil to strangely pleasant and friendly.

"Captain Jack Sparrow… I can lead you to him. Maybe even-," she paused to unfasten a button on his shirt, "find him myself and _bring_ him to you. You know I can be very, _very_ persuasive."

"Well, thanks a lot but I've decided I don't need help. You know, I've uh… changed my mind, or something like that." He wasn't exactly in a normal state of mind, so he didn't realize what he was saying. "In fact, I don't even…_want_ to find him anymore really…" By now, he was up against the wall, half-naked, wondering if he truly didn't like the situation. The smell of her hair made him feel funny.

"So… what are we doing again?" he asked with an uncomfortable smirk.

"I would suppose it's time for that bath. Being as you _are_ completely undressed. I'll inform you of your task in the morning- when, hopefully, you'll be fit to speak with in a civil manner."

An embarrassed James Norrington staggered upstairs to clean himself and then passed out on an already-made bed for him waiting in the adjacent room. He dreamed not of pirates or treasure, but a girl… strangely handsome and clever.

Jack held the tiny trinket up to the light and examined its fading quality.

"What in the blazes…. Ah!" he screamed as the cabin door flew open, exposing a livid Will Turner.

"I don't think you want to help save Elizabeth at all. I think you're just conniving some stupid plan to get us both killed!" Will sat down with an irritated thump, not really expecting a decent answer.

"Being such a god-awful pirate, you really wouldn't understand why saving bonnie girl…whats-her-face is not my absolute number one priority. You see Will…" he began to unwrap the bandage concealing the palm of his left hand. "…I've got to find a way to convince Davy Jones to call your dear ol' beastie off the hunt." He displayed the black spot quite close to William's face, and, with a look of hopelessness he turned around, creaking as he traipsed off.

"Jack, I had no i-"

"It's no use Will," said Jack, turning back around. He used his arms to support himself against the table, his hair barely skimming the surface. "It's definitely my own fault. All we should really do right now is look for land. Beastie would love to give us another house call as soon as he's feeling better… of course, after that nasty cannon shot you so graciously bestowed… I have to admit: It _was_ quite brilliant of you. I'll give you that." After displaying a weak smile, Jack seemed to snap out of his good mood rather quickly and left the room without another word.

"Oh, Commodore!" Luza rapped her knuckles sharply against the weathered wood of Norrington's door. "Wake-up, love!"

He grumbled something that sounded rather like "push off" but answered the door anyway. "Whaddyoowant?"

"Really, no way to talk to a lady, Sir Commodore. Address me properly."

"Oh, yeah? What's going to happen if I don't?" he sneered, leaning against the doorframe.

Luza licked her lips, eyes darkening considerably. She leaned precariously close to him, grabbing the front of his shirt and standing on tip-toe. "It's a secret," she whispered, lips brushing his ear.

His eyes widened, jaw dropping. She was a foreword little thing, she was. "Er…right. Well, er, I…hungry. I mean, that is to say, I'm hungry. Rather." Buggering hell- he sounded like a peasant.

Luza laughed melodically, now pressing her body slightly against his. "What kind of hunger, Jamie?"

Evil bint.

Lolita smelled adventure. It hung thick on the clammy air of the sea, suffocating her with its heady, intoxicating aroma. She wanted it, she wanted to grasp it in her hands and claim it as her own.

Lolita always got what she wanted.

"Jack!" Will leaned over the side of the ship, sea spray dampening his face. "Jack, land!"

The aforementioned captain sauntered up from his cabin, reeking strongly of alcohol. "What?" He leaned against the doorframe with a considerable scowl darkening his brow in an attempt of menace.

"I see land, Ja- -"

"Captain."

"Er, right, Captain. I see land. With a dock." He spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a very small child.  
"Jolly for you, then."  
Will heaved a tremendous sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "As in, we can _land_, thus escaping the Kraken."

"Ah. Lovely point, that is. Dock 'er, then." He turned to sulk back down to his steady supply of drink.

"You're not going to help?!" Will's jaw dropped indignantly.

"Nope. The crew, i.e. you, takes care of all the grunt work while the captain, i.e. me, does all the thinkin' bits. You know, where to, ah, place…things. And such."

Will sighed exasperatedly, rolling his eyes skyward.

"I don't really _give_ a damn whether he lives or dies, you bleeding- - Ah, Commodore. You're awake rather early." Luza raised an eyebrow, dismissing the woman she'd been speaking to with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

"I want to know what's going on, Milano," he said gruffly, taking a seat on an over-stuffed chaise in her richly furbished caravan.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Her tone was saccharine, eyes wide and (somewhat) innocent.

"Don't play dumb. You're the most conniving wench I've ever seen. I want answer, Milano. Answers." He glared at her menacingly, refusing to be distracted by the wealth of cleavage on display by her corset.

"_Lady_ Milano," hissed Luza through clenched teeth.

"Hardly a lady, my dear. More like…oh, what's the word…half-breed. A _gypsy_ half-breed nonetheless," he snorted derisively. Secretly, Norrington was hoping for a vicious, bodice-ripping reaction. He was, however, sorely disappointed.

"I see you've been getting around, Commodore," she chuckled, eyes gleaming. "Do you honestly think something as small as that could bother me?"

Norrington fiercely fought off a blush. "No," he replied petulantly. "Not at all. Just bloody well tell me whatever it is you're after!"

"Well, since you asked so _nicely_." Luza stood abruptly, pulling her mass of black curls off the back of her neck and tying them up. Norrington stood after her, glaring.

"What I want," she began distractedly, heading towards a large, ornate chest. She reached into her bodice, pulling out a roughly crafted wooden key.

She bent to open the chest, mumbling a few small words. "Praise Allah," she breathed as the lock clicked. "Hasn't been opened in quite a few years," she explained.

After several minutes of rummaging and quite a few colorful words, Luza emerged triumphant. "What I want is _this_."

She held a crinkled drawing of a man out to Norrington, hand wavering slightly. He snatched it from her, a small gasp escaping his lips.

"You mean…? No. You want bloody_ Sparrow_?! His popularity seems to have increased quite a bit in recent months, I see."

"Yes, quite a bit indeed." There was an underlying menace to her soft words.

Lolita knew the Gypsies were troublesome tramps. She knew they were shameless, pathetic thieves. And, yet, she found herself inexplicably drawn toward their gaudily painted cattle cars, or whatever they were.

She traced her hand along the weathered wooden sideboards of one cart, wincing as a splinter attached itself to her skin. "Lady Milano's fortunes," she read out-loud. Her gut jumped pleasantly, and in that second she knew- she would find what her mundane life had been lacking in this Gypsy's caravan.

With shaking hands, she pushed aside the beaded curtain and entered.A woman was seated at a table, staring intently at a rather bedraggled man across from her. She had long, dark hair and a rather heavy brow. She was not pretty, her broad features loaning her instead a rather handsome visage.

Her dark eyes flicked from the man to Lolita, and she adopted a cheesy smile. "James, I do believe it's time for you to leave." She motioned towards Lolita, causing Norrington to whip around.

"Ah, well, I'll have a chat with you later, then." He stood on wobbly legs and exited the room, clutching a dirty paper in his hand.

"Take a seat, my darling. My inner eye says something special of you," Luza breathed in her most mystical voice. "I am Lady Luza Milano."

"Er, I'm Lolita. I'm here because I want, you know, my fortune read."

Luza smiled tightly. "Yes, dear. But what _of_ it do you want told?"

Lolita thought for a second, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "I…well, it's hard to explain. I want, no, need a break from this dreadful monotony. I want _adventure_."

Luza spread her lips wide in a not-so-nice smile, a sinister glint flashing in her eyes. "Do you, ah, like the ocean?"

Lolita quirked an eyebrow, confusion clear on her face. "Er, well, yes. Quite a bit."

"What about sailing? Do you like sailing?"

A wistful look crossed Lolita's face. "Oh, yes. I absolutely love it."

Luza's smile widened, more malicious than before. "If I could offer you 'adventure', would you take it? No matter the cost."

"I…well, yes, I suppose."

"No uncertainty," snapped Luza.

Fear of the unknown flitted across Lolita's face, rapidly replaced by a fierce determination. "Yes. Absolutely."

"Perfect!" Luza's smile dropped its malevolent tang, lighting up her whole face. "Well, those clothes certainly won't do." She glanced critically at Lolita's mildly fancy dress.

"Er, right."

"We leave tomorrow at dawn. You've been dismissed." With a slight wave of hand, Luza stood. "Oh, and I expect you at the very _least_ two hours before the sun is up," she called after Lolita.

Things were beginning to shape up.


End file.
